Vie en Rose
by Cathartes
Summary: Jane tries to manipulate Lisbon into confessing her feelings for him, using a variety of underhanded and overly-complicated techniques.
1. Bribery

_I do not own the Mentalist and am making no profit from this work of fan-fiction._

**)()()()(**

"Exciting development," said Jane, "I think I just cracked the case."

Lisbon's head shot up from her desk. "Took you long enough," she said, trying to pretend she hadn't been asleep.

Jane frowned. She had dark circles under her eyes, and although she'd never admit it, he was pretty sure she'd been drifting in and out all evening.

"Well? C'mon, give it up."

Jane made a hasty decision. "I would, Lisbon, I would tell you, but I think it needs a little more time to – ah, marinate."

"Marinate," she repeated stupidly.

"Oh, well, you know, sometimes ideas – they take a little while to gel. It just needs to – ah, stew . . . Say, are you hungry?" He had intentionally primed her with cooking terms so that she would be susceptible to this suggestion; predictably, though, she claimed she was 'fine' and that they 'needed to focus on the case.'

It didn't escape his notice that she had to swallow before she started to speak. And she licked her lips. He knew she was hungry. She had skipped lunch (again).

"Jane? Are you even listening to me?"

"I'm sorry, my dear, I was distracted by how famished I am. I'm afraid I couldn't possibly discuss this with you until I have something to eat."

"You're kidding me, right? You understand that there is a murderer out there? And you're _hungry_. Okay, jeez, I think I've got a box of crackers in my drawer . . ."

"Crackers . . . no, that won't do it. I need to have something a little more filling than crackers. Maybe something French? Yes, and a glass of red wine. That should allow me to discuss the case, I think."

"Jane, _murderer_. Try to focus here."

"There's always a murderer out there, have you noticed that? I bet whether we go out for _haute cuisine_ or not, there's still going to be a murderer, somewhere."

"_We_ are not getting any kind of cuisine. If _you_ want cuisine, _you_ can go get it – _after_ you tell me the new development. Then you can go eat whatever you like."

"Oh, I don't think I could possibly tell you, unless we experience some fine dining first. Terribly sorry, but it's just not going to work, otherwise." He tried to sound legitimately apologetic, but wasn't at all sure he pulled it off. He reached with one hand to collect his jacket where it was slung over the arm of the couch. "Did you bring a coat?"

Lisbon cast a glance at the coat-rack in the corner before she could stop herself, and immediately reverted her gaze to his face. "So this is what, blackmail?"

"Hold that thought." Jane fetched her coat, then stood waiting at the door. "Of course, we can discuss this further, if you'd like." He pitched his voice low enough that she would struggle to hear him.

As he intended, she had to follow him in order to finish the conversation, which left her watching him as he flipped off the lights. She was standing in the semi-darkness until he ushered her out the door in front of him. "Excuse me," he murmured, nudging her forward so he could pull the door shut. "Now, then, Gerard's or _La Varenne_?"

"Why are we standing out here?" asked Lisbon, as he checked that the office was locked. Although she hadn't noticed it yet, he had also taken her keys.

"I think a nice cassoulet, don't you? Or _blanquette de veau_? La Varenne, then, to be sure. They have vegetarian quiche that's very good too." Before she knew it, he was sliding her jacket over her shoulders, tucking the loose garment around her body. "Come along, Lisbon."

Lisbon trailed after him a little dazedly. "What just happened?" she asked.


	2. Public Intoxication

**)()()()(**

"What I don't understand is, how can we possibly be dealing with separate disorganized killers, who seem to be working together? That's weird, right?"

Jane sighed. He might have known that Lisbon would know how to spoil a date. She had been talking about the LeHolt case since the moment they sat down.

"Jane? Hey Jane, I'm talking to you!"

"Oh, were you? I didn't hear a question in there."

"I asked what you thought."

"I think sometimes it helps to take your mind off the problem for a while. Have a change of scenery. Sleep on it."

Lisbon paused for a beat. "It's just, the part that gets to me is . . . "

Fortunately the waiter appeared before she could finish the thought. Jane brightened immediately. "Ah! Excellent! I'll have the special and the soup of the day, please."

"But I haven't even told you what the specials are yet . . . ."

"No need, no need, I'm sure it's fabulous. Yes, and the lady will have . . . the ratatouille, I think. Yes. And an extra order of rice, on the side."

"Jane, I don't need you to order for me!" Lisbon sputtered. Jane sighed. He should have done it in French, so she wouldn't have had an opening. "And also we'll also take a bottle of the House red," he added.

"A _bottle_, Jane? There's only two of us!"

"Ah, four glasses to a bottle, that's only two glasses each," Jane answered smoothly. "Over two hours that's not too much, even for someone your size." Of course, he didn't mention that he wasn't planning on drinking more than half a glass.

Sure, it would have been sophomoric for him to seduce her over dinner, but if he tricked her into seducing him . . . well, that was a stroke of genius.

"Two _hours_," repeated Lisbon, aghast. "How many courses did you just order?"

"Tut tut, my dear, I am just asking for one leisurely dinner. Is that too much to hope for?"

Lisbon gave him the Death Glare but didn't comment when the sommelier brought a bottle of Cab Franc to the table, leading Jane through the elaborate ritual of tasting. He also took his time examining the cork. "Very good," he said finally, watching as the waiter filled both of their glasses with the jewel-colored liquid. Then Jane turned the label of the bottle towards Lisbon so she couldn't track how much of it was left.

"Your dinners will be right out," said the waiter. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Oh, I think we've got everything we need, thanks." Jane watched Lisbon sip her glass in silence, knowing that she was most likely thinking about the case again. Fortunately, he enjoyed a challenge.

When the food came, Lisbon turned to watch the waiter set it out; Jane quickly refilled her glass. The trick was never to let it get too empty - she would notice if an empty glass magically refilled. But a glass that always stayed half-full, well, that was just good karma.

"What did you order, anyway?" she asked, examining his plate.

"I believe it's Bouillabaisse," said Jane, using his spoon to push a tentacle back into the soup.

"Huh. Looks . . . adventurous." Lisbon was frowning at her wine glass, her face wrinkling in faint confusion, but she didn't say anything. She took a long swallow and started in on her salad.

The main course came a little too quickly in Jane's opinion; Lisbon was two full glasses in and didn't seem any more open-minded. For such a small woman, she could really hold her wine. Surreptitiously, he tipped his glass over hers, topping it up again, when she leaned to pick up a napkin that had fallen out of her lap.

"Is it no good?" asked Jane, watching Lisbon push a tomato around her plate. He knew it was; he had tested it yesterday. He reached across the table with a fork and stole a bite.

"Hey! You've got your own food," Lisbon protested, defensively huddling over her plate. She quickly snagged a couple of forkfuls and snarfed them down before he could take any more. Jane stifled his smile.

"So, it's okay?" he asked.

"Yes, it's . . . quite good," admitted Lisbon, looking put-out.

"I make this recipe at home sometimes," Jane added, "but I have to say they do it better here."

"You – cook this?"

He was guessing Lisbon wasn't much of a cook, herself. Capable, no doubt, but not very inspired - a few bites of whatever had defrosted overnight, washed down with a beer and a handful of m&ms. Probably helped her maintain her slim figure, too. She must have been the one to cook for her brothers (a lot of meatloaf? That was his guess) and now that she lived alone she didn't bother. Maybe someday he could help her with that . . .

"Only on special occasions." When Lisbon went to the restroom, Jane emptied the last of the bottle and motioned for the server to take it away before she came back.

"This was really nice," she admitted, retaking her seat. "You're probably right, it was a good idea."

"I'm known for my excellent ideas," said Jane, "if not always their execution. Dessert?"

"Uh, I don't think so," said Lisbon, making a face. "I really don't feel so hot."

Jane frowned; the plan was to lower her inhibitions, not make her sick. "Sit a while, you'll feel better," he told her.

"No, we should go, I don't want to hold up the table."

"Lisbon, it's a Thursday night, it's not like the place is packed."

"We have to get back," she insisted.

"Get back?" Jane was hoped that, in the candlelight, he looked especially charming when he tilted his head like that. Any minute now, Lisbon would take her courage from the wine and say -

". . . Back to the office. To work on the case."

"What? Oh, no. You should go home and sleep on it, like I said before. Remember?"

Lisbon got up slowly, rubbing her forehead. "I wish we could take another look at the crime scene. Do you think the guard is still there?" She tossed two twenties on the table and bent to scoop up her bag.

"Lisbon, you can't drive." Jane threw down his own money, collecting hers to give it back to her later. He hurried after her and found her struggling with her coat. "Here." He held the back of it for her so that she could slide her arms into the sleeves. "You can't drive, Lisbon, you had all that wine with dinner."

"Only one glass . . ."

"Ah. Yes. Mmm, well, it never hurts to be extra careful," said Jane. "My car is parked out front - I'll drive you home. Come along, now." His clever plan was working . . . sort of.

"I'm going back to the office. Wait – why is your car parked out front? We walked here . . ." Lisbon cocked her head in confusion.

"Yes well, never mind about that now," said Jane hastily. (He had parked it there - this morning). "Come along, Lisbon, and I'll make you some coffee" (decaf) "when we get back to your place" (and get you tucked into bed . . . ).

"No!" she tugged out of his grasp and pushed impatiently past him, stumbling only just a very little bit. "Come off it, Jane, somebody out there is killing people, and _you_ _know_ what that means, better than anyone. If this was Red John, you'd be up all night trying to track him down – or doesn't it matter, if it's not your family involved?"

She had gone too far – usually she didn't invoke his murdered family, but he was the one, after all, who had lowered her inhibitions. He had nobody to blame but himself. "Lisbon – "

"Let me go," she said, "I'm going back to the office."

He scrambled after her and just managed to catch up before she turned the corner. "Okay," he agreed, gently. "Okay, we'll go back."

...

Lisbon sat at her desk under a pool of light, resting her chin heavily in one hand. The recording of the witness testimony was playing on her speakers, and she was trying to listen. The womans' voice, eerily calm, was describing the scene in the street before the bodies were found. It was dark and quiet.

"Are you hoping to detect something subconsciously?" asked Jane.

She opened her eyes; "Wha?"

"You're asleep," he told her.

Her eyelids drifted closed. "Mmm-mmm, am not. Shh. Listening."

He leaned against the desk. "Are too."

She couldn't keep her eyes open; the words came out in a whisper. "Am not."

Jane hesitated for a second, then slowly lowered himself down to the floor, sitting next to her chair with his back against the desk. He wrapped his coat around himself to keep off the chill of the cold tiles. He was going to get sick, sleeping on the floor all night. . . .

Actually, that was a genius, fail-proof plan. He should have tried it a lot sooner: Lisbon liked taking care of things. She liked being useful. This was Lisbon 101, Introduction to Basic Lisbon Psychology. He could use that against her.

Despite this breakthrough Jane could feel himself dozing off slowly as well, listening to her quiet breathing while the grim report continued, heedless, through the speakers.


	3. Egregious Fraud

**)()()()(**

Jane examined himself in the bathroom mirror. A light dusting of baby powder had given him a convincing pallor. Now he rubbed his eyes until they looked reddened and sore, then gave himself a "sweaty" forehead with a damp paper towel. So far, so good.

He went back into the squad room and relaxed on his couch, planning his next moves carefully. First, he needed to catch her attention.

_*Cough cough hack cough hack hack – ghuh – hack* **- groan -**_

"Jane, what's with all the racket out there?"

_Cough_ – "Nothing, Lisbon, I'm – " _cough , cough, cough_ – "I'm just fine."

He dropped his head back over the arm of the couch, knowing he would sound stuffy if the blood ran to his head. Fortunately, the junior agents were out to lunch, giving him the space he needed for his performance.

"Are you sick?" Lisbon poked her head around the office door, just missing him swinging his head up to a normal position. "Stay away from me if you're sick."

"No, I'm - " _Cough – cough – cough – wheeze_. Whooops, Jane had made himself a little lightheaded. It's hard to fake a convincing death-rattle without getting carried away.

"Jane?" She was suddenly very close to him, frowning down into his face, and Jane concentrated on looking glassy-eyed and dazed. It wasn't hard since he had actually hyperventilated.

He felt her cool wrist on his forehead and concentrated on thinking hot, steamy thoughts, which was . . . uh, surprisingly easy to do. Enough said.

"You do feel warm," Lisbon fretted.

Jane aimed for extra-pathetic; "I might be coming down with something."

"If you're sick, go home before you infect the entire squad."

"I don't want to go back there," said Jane (_cough, hack, cough_), and it wasn't too hard to assume a haunted, forlorn expression.

Lisbon sighed. "What do you want me to do, rent you a hotel room?"

"I can't sleep in hotels," said Jane miserably.

"You can't stay here, Jane, you're probably contagious."

Time to go in for the kill. "Can't you take me home with you?"

"Oh no. No way." Lisbon backed away with her hands held defensively in front of her.

"Why not? Wait, is this because we slept together?" asked Jane loudly.

"What? No!" Lisbon cast a frantic glance at the open door to the hallway. "Slept together . . . _Separately_. And _Fully Clothed_. You were on the floor! You probably didn't even sleep, you jerk."

It was hard for Jane to hide his smile, but fortunately, he was a professional. "C'mon, Lisbon, the case is dead at the moment. I feel like crud and I'm not going to be any help anyway. Just let me sleep it off at your place and I won't be any trouble. I promise." *Sniffle.*

...

The sniffle probably sold it, Jane reflected, from the passenger seat of Lisbon's SUV. It was certainly not his promise to behave - Lisbon was too smart to believe his promises these days. He did notice, though, that she turned up the heat all the way up in her car, presumably for his sake. And she switched on the radio even though she didn't usually like to drive with it on. And, he was pretty sure she was shooting him concerned looks when she thought he wasn't looking. He concentrated on seeming as wan and cadaverous as possible.

Jane knew that she was attracted to him. He just _knew, _the same way that he knew her favorite movie and her holiday plans and the password to her computer. And really, how could she not be? If he did say so himself, he was _extremely_ charming. But she was always trying to block those thoughts out, putting up roadblocks between them.

Fortunately Jane had a talent for breaking down other people's barriers.

Maybe in the beginning it had been a little bit of a game - he just liked to get her flustered and prickly, all riled up like a cat you had stroked the wrong way. And that had been wrong and he was very sorry about that. But she just looked so cute with her fur puffed up . . .

He just wanted her attention, was that so bad? He just wanted to _hold_ her attention. He just didn't like it when she thought about - anything other than him . . .

Of course, he wasn't just going to blurt something like that out. How terribly gauche. Plus, it would give her the opportunity to reject him. There was always that minute possibility, probably for some really nauseating, noble reason, such as the fact that she was technically his boss, or that he might be planning the bloody murder of a nemesis, or something equally non-essential. Trust Lisbon to overlook the forest for the trees.

Also for some reason, she seemed to believe that he was just playing games with her emotions. Which was brutally unfair and not at all true (anymore).

Fortunately Jane had a subtle and sophisticated mind. Rather than revealing his own feelings, wouldn't it be more convenient to get Lisbon to realize hers? He just needed the right situation - apparently it wasn't at the bottom of a bottle of wine at a nice French restaurant, but the situation was out there, somewhere - to really drive it home to Lisbon that she was crazy about him. She was action-oriented; she could be counted on to follow up from there.

So all he needed to do was create the circumstances to allow Lisbon to come to terms with her overwhelming attraction to him. How hard was that?

"Jane, we're here." Her voice was soft. "C'mon, out of the car."

_Maybe_ it wasn't necessary to lean on her quite so much as they walked up to her apartment. He probably didn't need to bury his face in her neck as she unlocked the door. "You're pushing it, Jane. And you weigh a ton, you know that?"

Before he knew it, he was sitting on her bed, safely ensconced in her tidy little bedroom. The soothing grey walls and the soft blue blankets reminded him of her: cool and unruffled. "Sorry Jane, but I don't have a spare room," she explained, quickly snatching up what looked like an item of lingerie from the floor and stuffing it in a drawer. Jane flopped bonelessly back on her bed, taking in the Lisbon-scented sheets and the pillow that smelled faintly of cinnamon.

"Tha's okay," he muttered, hoping to sound out-of-it.

He felt her tug his shoes off one by one, patting his foot before she moved to stand next to him. "Here, get under the covers." Jane closed his eyes and basked in the realization of his goals. Here he was, sprawled in Lisbon's bed, being cuddled and cared for. He should have thought of this a lot sooner.

"Jane, open your mouth. Jane."

Jane kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. He doubted he could fool her for long if he was awake – it was very difficult to keep a lid on this degree of smugness. No, best to pretend to be comatose for a while.

He felt her hand rest on his cheek and press gently on his jaw – then something hard and cold, and shockingly smooth, was tucked under his tongue. Lisbon cupped his chin closed around the thermometer.

They waited in silence for the beep.

He felt her small hand stroke once through his curls and had to keep himself from smiling in satisfaction; no woman could resist the tousled blond mop. It was his secret weapon. "Poor Jane," said Lisbon, softly. "Such a damn pain in the ass when you're awake, and now look at you."

Jane half-turned to nuzzle his face into her palm, making a sleepy little grumble of protest. He would get her back for calling him a pain in the ass, someday.

"Looks like your fever's going down," said Lisbon, taking her thermometer back. If he had been given the opening, Jane would have gargled warm water to fool it. "Alright, get some sleep, and I'll be back before you know it," he heard her say.

He cracked an eyelid. "Where are you going?"

"I've got to go back to work, Jane," said Lisbon, tugging on his hair. "How am I going to explain going home in the middle of the day?"

"Tell them you were ministering to the sick and infirm," Jane mumbled, "like a good saint."

"Stay here, don't answer the phone, and don't get out of bed," she directed. "You'll be fine by tomorrow, if you were ever really sick at all."

"I'm insulted that you would suspect me of malingering," Jane replied. He wished she would stay and perhaps confess her undying love for him, but maybe a different tack was required. No matter. He would find it.

As soon as he heard the front door shut behind her, Jane sat up cheerfully and threw back the covers. He had to get moving -

He had a lot to do today.


	4. Trespass

**)()()()(**

Even though he had been given the perfect opportunity, Jane didn't feel the need to poke around Lisbon's apartment too much - after all, he had been there before. He barely glanced through her closet or her dresser drawers.

Anyway, it seemed like Lisbon didn't keep a diary.

No, he had bigger plans for the rest of the day, plans that involved stuffed figs with goat cheese and prosciutto. And rack of lamb. And maybe, if she was good, a really decadent dessert (Mousse? Crème Brûlée? Or should he skip the dessert and go right for sex?).

No woman could resist a man who cooked for them. It was like woman-porn. Jane knew this perfectly well.

At 6:00, Jane finished the marinade and had the meat ready to sear. He set out a bottle of Syrah to breathe.

At 6:30, he took the onions off before they scorched. He had his appetizer assembled but was afraid to put it in until she arrived, as it was a temperamental dish that didn't sit well (he had picked it especially with her in mind).

By 7:00 he had started eating his way through the cheese tray, solo.

At 7:30 he was wondering if he should call her, which would spoil the surprise, and he was pretty sure Crème Brûlée was off the table.

Finally at 8:15 he heard her familiar light step in the hallway and the sound of her key in the lock.

"Jane! You're still here," she said blankly, coming around the corner. "I thought you'd be gone by now. And you – cooked." She was looking at the counter. "You didn't find all this food in my house. The only thing I had in the fridge was a frozen pizza."

"I saw that," said Jane mildly. "Really Lisbon, _three_ cheeses? I thought you'd be watching your diet . . ."

She refused to rise to the bait. "Did you go shopping?"

"Maybe I picked up a few things."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I thought you were sick?"

"I was feeling better," said Jane shamelessly.

She took off her coat and moved slowly through the kitchen on her way to the living room. "Okay, well, it was kind of a long day and to be honest I'm not really starving."

"Of course not," said Jane. Sliding the finished roast back into the fridge.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said.

Jane had the impression that she was moving with exaggerated care as she walked past him. He watched her closely. "Are you okay?"

"Uh huh." Over her shoulder as she disappeared into the hallway.

Jane put away the honey and reached for the figs he had stacked next to the sink. He selected a paring knife and began to slice the fruit, slowly. He heard the water running in another room. Wondered if she hummed in the shower, where no-one could hear. Thought about Lisbon in the shower . . .

When she came out, dressed in her pajamas and a terry-cloth robe, he had only finished one fig. "Can I help?" she asked. "With - whatever this is, that you're working on?"

"No, but you can take a seat and keep me company." He resumed slicing, his movements confident and sure. He was at home in a kitchen and knew he was a terrific cook. Of course. What wasn't he good at – besides, apparently, seducing Lisbon?

"I guess I could do that," agreed Lisbon, reaching for a wine glass and pouring herself a splash of the Syrah. The loose sleeve of her robe slid up her arm, revealing a series of dark circular bruises, which looked like nothing so much as the marks of five fingers.

"You _are_ hurt," Jane noted, keeping a grip on the rising anger burning in his stomach. "Lisbon? What happened?" He felt a stab of an unfamiliar emotion – guilt. While he'd spent the day faking sick, here was Lisbon actually injured.

"It was nothing, Jane," said Lisbon, taking a sip of wine as she shook her sleeve back down. "We got a suspect in the LeHolt case, and he got a little – touchy. No big deal."

"He grabbed you?"

"Nah, nothing so dramatic. He didn't want to come in for questioning and we had to persuade him, that's all." Lisbon's tone was light, but Jane was watching her intently and didn't miss the way she rubbed the back of her neck.

Jane leaned over to slide his new creation into the oven. "Did you get anything out of him?" he asked neutrally, careful to keep any emotion out of his voice.

"Not yet, but I'm sure he's one of our guys. Not the mastermind, just muscle."

Jane frowned and bit the inside of his lip.

"What are we making?" Lisbon wanted to know. She had selected a leftover sprig of rosemary and was tearing it into pieces.

"It's not ready yet. Perhaps you would care for an icepack while we wait?"

"Don't _fuss_," said Lisbon grumpily, pushing the fragrant scraps away from her. "I have a rough job, Jane, you know that." Seeing his tight expression, added in a gentler tone, "It was over in a few seconds, okay? It was _nothing_, I promise_. _You don't have to worry about me."

"You took care of me, when I was sick – why can't I return the favor?"

"It's – different," said Lisbon, "it doesn't work that way."

Jane bit off the reply on the tip of his tongue. He didn't want to fight with her tonight, when she was tired at the end of a long day. He was supposed to be persuading her that he was good to have around.

Instead he let the conversation lag as he turned to check on the oven. In silence, he watched the cheese slowly melting.

"It smells good," said Lisbon, finally.

"Mm."

She huffed a little, shifting in her seat. "Jane -"

"This is almost ready," he told her. "Why don't you get the plates ready, and we can eat in front of the TV?"

"Okay." He heard her moving softly around the kitchen, gathering up the place settings. It felt domestic and strangely familiar, the clinking of cutlery and flatware. It made his chest hurt, to remember.

"Jane," asked Lisbon reasonably as she filled water glasses from a pitcher, "is there a rack of lamb in my refrigerator?"

"Yes," he replied, just a little snottily. "If you want to reheat it, use the broiler. But it will be fine sitting in the fridge overnight and it's good cold too." Secretly, he was pleased that all week long, she would be eating food he had prepared.

"Do I _have _a broiler?" Lisbon wondered aloud as she went to the living room. Jane rolled his eyes as he followed her with a steaming tray.

"Okay, this is hot, but be prepared to be blown away."

Lisbon looked at her plate. "Pizza?"

"It's not just pizza, it's _gourmet_ pizza, Fresh-Fig-Caramelized-Onion-and-Goat-Cheese Pizza. It's a fabulous recipe that I invented myself."

"You made this from my frozen pizza."

"It's a different experience entirely. It's like pizza on steroids. It's super-pizza. The best pizza you ever ate." _This is the pizza that will make you realize you're in love with me._

Lisbon took a slice. "But . . . we haven't closed the case yet," she said, puzzled.

Jane patted her hand, and indulged himself by leaving his fingers there while they ate.

"We will," he promised.

--

--

_Recipes (delete spaces):_

**Stuffed figs with goat cheese and prosciutto:** www .tastefoodblog. com/tastefood/2009/08/stuffed-figs-with-goat-cheese-and-prosciutto. html

**Rack of lamb:** http ://allrecipes .com/Recipe/Roasted-Rack-of-Lamb/Detail. aspx

**Fresh fig, caramelized onion, and goat cheese pizza** (from scratch): www .recipezaar. com/Fresh-Fig-Caramelized-Onion-and-Goat-Cheese-Gourmet-Pizza-187474


	5. Aggravated Assault

_Big thanks to Jisbon-Fan and blondieland for pointing out that an upcoming episode of the show has the same title as this story.  
__It was probably inevitable, what with the relatively small number of red-themed catchphrases they could use!  
I thought about it, consulted my lipstick collection, and decided to change the story from_ Rose-Colored Glasses _to_ Vie en Rose_.  
Now, on with the fic!_

**)()()()(**

Jane didn't usually appreciate being called into work on a Saturday – not that he was ever busy with anything much, but it was the _principle_ of the thing.

Today he was willing to overlook it.

He knew Lisbon had enjoyed his pizza last night. Of course she had. But even so, she'd insisted on keeping the conversation light, and whenever he tried to engage her, she fended him off with typically dry humor. This avoidance tactic particularly annoyed him, since he'd perfected it himself. And at the end of the evening, she had politely shown him the door.

It was too bad – he'd really been hoping to let her do this at her own pace. But now there was no hope for it: he'd just have to_ give her a little push_ . . .

He strolled across the parking lot, looking for the team.

He had considered a variety of options – tampering with her car had been an obvious one, so that he could conveniently show up to rescue her. Or he could have gotten them trapped in an elevator. Or made magic brownies. In the end, though, these plans had been discarded as a little too creepy.

Instead he decided to concentrate on their physical attraction. Poor Lisbon, he had been hoping it wouldn't have to come to this. But really, she had only herself to blame.

"Jane! Over here!" He looked across the park to find her, surrounded by a knot of uniformed officers and crime scene techs. Rigsby and Van Pelt were standing nearby, deep in conversation with one of the detectives. Waving back, he made his way over.

Not to brag, but Jane was fairly confident in his powers of attraction. And if the cherry blush that occasionally crept up Lisbon's neck was any indication, she was pretty aware of them too. Maybe she just needed a little reminder?

"Sorry to call you in on the weekend, Jane," said Lisbon from her position, bent over a black-shrouded gurney.

He dropped his hand on her shoulder casually, as if he wasn't thinking about it. But of course, Jane never did anything without thinking about it. He felt her shoulders tighten under his grip. "It's fine. What have we got?"

She stepped aside to reveal a corpse that was fresh, dead, and almost unrecognizable as human.

She _really_ had a way of spoiling the mood, Jane reflected.

"This is officer Tom Finnings," she introduced the body. "He was a witness in the original LeHolt trial, and now he's missing pieces of his skull. Cho got this location from the musclehead we brought in yesterday."

Jane frowned. "So we're definitely talking organized crime?"

"Probably. Rigsby, Van Pelt – go track down his next of kin and make the notification. See what you can get out of them. And for God's sake, be careful. These guys obviously aren't afraid to target law enforcement, so watch your step, okay?" Obediently the two agents moved away. Lisbon shoved a clipboard into Jane's hands and turned on her heel. "C'mon, the site is over here."

He followed her, keeping maybe just a little too close, which gave him the chance to brush against her side as they walked. Did she pick up speed a little? Well, he could match it easily enough.

The spot was a little gully in the center of a city park, and officers had already cleared away the rubble to reveal a shallow grave. "Feel free to look around, Jane, the techs have documented the scene." If she thought he was going to keep his distance, she was wrong.

He watched her climb down into the pit to investigate the soil, pressing her gloved finger into the soft sides of the grave. "Couldn't have been here more than a few days," she reported, rubbing her hands together.

There was a rubber band around the clipboard in Jane's hand; he unsnapped it and approached, kneeling at the edge of the pit. "Is that a shell casing?" He pointed into a dark corner.

She leaned forward obligingly, her dark hair falling in her face as she peered into the recesses. He watched her try to blow it out of her face and smiled. "Here," he said, kneeling behind her and, before she could protest, catching up her hair into a low ponytail. After all, her hands were dirty – she couldn't do it herself. And those soft, cool strands were slippery. Like silk.

"Oh, that's oka – um. Okay." From this close, he could see the pulse point jumping in her throat. Was he imagining that it was fast? No, surely it didn't always press desperately against the skin like that – and if so, he really needed to talk to her about her blood pressure.

He tidied her hair into little knot and wrapped the band around it carefully. Yes, of course he knew how to manage hair - wasn't he (perpetually, irrevocably) the father of a little girl? "Just a second . . . there you go. All set."

"Jane?" asked Lisbon, sounding decidedly strained. "No casing."

He supposed it would be sophomoric to seduce her over a grave. "My mistake," he said, offering a hand to help her out. She ignored it and scrambled up by herself, peeling off her gloves when she was standing on solid ground. Then she squatted at the head of the grave, scowling thoughtfully into the earth.

He noted that she had deliberately placed the pit between them. Now she was just being stubborn.

A second later, he dropped into the same position as her; mirroring somebody's body language was a powerful non-verbal seduction technique. When she bent forward slightly, he did the same thing.

"So maybe he was here for a run," said Lisbon, thinking out loud. "Maybe it's late evening, not a lot of people around. And somebody knows his schedule, waits for him here, with the shovel . . ."

Carefully, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, watching her closely – _come on, Lisbon_, he coaxed mentally. _You know you want to . . ._

Success! Without necessarily knowing what she was doing, she imitated his position. "But how did they find him in the first place," she wondered. "He'd changed departments, moved across town . . . this took an awful lot of planning."

Since the scene wasn't going to tell them a damn thing, Jane decided to subtly direct her attention back to where it belonged – on him. He stood up and stretched, rolling his shoulders. He could see her studying him out of the corner of her eye, but he gave no indication that he noticed; it wouldn't do to spook her, after all. And, bless her, she _was_ terribly skittish.

"We'll get them, Lisbon," he told her, "but not from anything we're going to find here. I'll meet you back at the car." He turned around and started walking back towards the path, taking his time, giving her the chance to enjoy the long line of his body. He knew she was watching. He could _feel_ her eyes on his backside. Five . . . four . . . three . . .

"Jane, don't go off by yourself," she ordered, hurrying to catch up; "How many times have I told yo- Wha – what are you doing?"

Was that a quiver he heard in her voice? Oh, she was _so_ close . . . . "You've got dirt on your pants," he explained.

"Well _leave it_," she squeaked, backing away from him hurriedly. "What is wrong with you today?"

Time for a straight-faced lie: "I apologize, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

She glared at him, and he met her eye contact and held it, not smiling; this was the trick, just keeping her in his steady gaze, and he could read the confusion in her dialated pupils, along with something more, something -

Until she dropped her eyes and began to fidget. "You're up to something, Jane," she muttered; "don't think I can't tell when you're pulling a con." She pushed past him and hurried towards her car, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as though she'd caught a chill.

A _con?_ Well, that was just the last straw. Jane had officially reached the limits of his patience. She may be spiky and stubborn, but he was good at one thing, and that was getting to the truth. Hurrying to catch up with her, he made a solemn vow that she wasn't getting out of that car until she admitted her feelings for him, out loud. And no take-backs.

Even if he had to disable her doorlocks.

Which he might have already done.


	6. Reckless Endangerment

**)()()()(**

"Lisbon, wait!" He forgot how _fast_ she moved when she was annoyed; he really had to hustle to catch up before she drove off without him. She was already swinging herself up into the front seat (and honestly, the Suburban was way too big for her - why didn't she try something compact and maneuverable, like her?).

"Jane, you're driving me nuts," said Lisbon, leaning against the steering wheel as he climbed in beside her. "I've got the DA breathing down my neck, murderers on the loose, and lamb in my refrigerator."

"What's wrong with the lamb?" asked Jane. "Was it underdone?"

She rolled her eyes and slammed the car door, and he settled back to wait. The knowledge that she couldn't leave (although she didn't know it yet) gave him a new, steadying confidence. Now he could afford to take his time, he finally had her right where he wanted her: stuck with him.

He was quiet as she backed out of the parking lot, letting her concentrate on a left-turn across traffic. "Is it so weird that I like to eat dinner in pleasant company?" he asked, cautiously. "Or that I don't want to be by myself when I'm sick?"

" . . . or that you sometimes try to touch my ass in public?"

"I was _brushing off dirt_," he insisted, but he was smiling. Wait, did that mean if it wasn't in public, she would let him? "You're a little sensitive about your personal space, did you know that?" But she wasn't listening to him, she was watching in her rear view mirror as she turned onto a side street.

"I need you to give me a break here, Jane. I'm asking nicely."

Jane declined to comment on that. "Where are we even going?" he asked instead.

"The victim's precinct," she answered absently. "I want to talk to his captain, see if he has any insights.

She made an unexpected turn and Jane grabbed the side of the door. "This isn't the way to Roseville," he pointed out. "Lisbon? Are you even listening to me?"

Her face was scrunched up in confusion. "I think somebody's following us."

"What?"

"Did you plan this? Is this you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He looked behind him. There was a silver Escalade making the same turn onto a side street. It did seem weird.

"Cut the crap, Jane, you've been up to something all week. Did you plan this?" She accelerated, slightly.

"Umm, no, I did not. Maybe I planned _something_, but this definitely isn't it."

"Well, damn," said Lisbon, with feeling. She made a short turn and the car behind them immediately followed, speeding up. "In that case, we'd better figure something out here." She reached for the radio clipped to her visor; "Hey Rigsby, this is Lisbon – I think we've got a situation here on the corner of – "

"Hamilton and Lex," said Jane, spotting a street sign.

"Lex and Hamilton. Call it in, and maybe you guys should get out here. Jane," she turned to him, "get down between the seats, low to the ground."

"Wait, aren't you – "

He was interrupted by a _crack_ and the feel of the car sliding sideways, and Lisbon's vicious cursing. "Jane, do it."

He did, slipping out of the seat and down to the floor, as the car came to a stop.

To Jane, the next moments weren't clear until a few days later, when he put them together over tea in the break room. What he remembered was a series of discrete impressions; the sound of the back window shattering, the sight of his own hand against the carpet in high relief, something flying past his head. It was like being inside the spin cycle of a washing machine: it was hard to tell which way was up.

He saw Lisbon slither between the seats to huddle next to him, and he reached for her thankfully, pulling her in close. "Whenever there's an opening I'm going to return fire," she shouted. "Stay as low as you can."

Another volley of spray had them crouching lower, and Jane pressed against her, praying that being so small would work to her advantage. His mouth found her ear. "Lisbon," he said, his voice hoarse – "I've got to tell you something."

"Oh no you don't," said Lisbon. "No way in hell." Out of the corner of his eye he could see her checking the clip in her gun, holding it against her heart like a prayer. The seat in front of them tore open and Jane held his breath through a percussive solo of gunfire.

"What?"

She flinched as something struck nearby with a dull _thwap._ "Listen, you're not exactly the first guy to pull this last-minute hail-Mary stuff with me, okay? So whatever you want to say, you can say it when you don't think you're about to die."

His reply was cut off by a sudden silence. "Wait," said Lisbon. "They're reloading, this is our chance." She pulled away from Jane and lurched to her feet, firing before she even finished standing up. Jane clapped his hands over his ears – the noise was so _loud _inside the car, it was like being inside a fireworks display, the light, the sound. There was return fire, but Jane kept listening to the sharp retort of Lisbon's glock, which was closer to his head and easier to keep track of.

If she stopped firing, he would know she was dead.

"I hit somebody," Lisbon called out. She had braced herself against the back of the seat and was aiming out through the broken back window. "Can't see who from here, but I definitely saw that guy go down – "

He thought he heard, and then was sure he heard, the sound of sirens coming closer. "Backup's here," Lisbon confirmed, ducking back down beside him, breathing heavily. Then she was pushing on his shoulder, trying to see into his face. "Jane? Are you hit anywhere? Are you hurt? Jane!"

"I'm fine," said Jane, looking down to make sure. There was more gunfire, but it seemed to be aimed away from them, the sound like firecrackers in a trashcan. Then it stopped. When Jane moved to stick his head up, Lisbon hauled him back down.

"Stay low!" she hissed, "wait until someone comes to tell us it's clear." She left her hand on his shoulder, he noticed, and he could feel her fingers twisting in his collar.

"Do you want to talk about what just happened?"

"I'm guessing it was semi-automatics but it's hard to say," said Lisbon. "Could have been assault rifles, I'm not a hundred percent – "

"I wasn't talking about that part," said Jane, "I understand that part just fine. Bad guys tried to kill us, bad guys failed. That's clear. I'm talking about the other part."

"Both parts were pretty traumatic," Lisbon acknowledged.

"Lisbon - "

"What do you want me to say, Jane?" She couldn't look at him, he noted. He was going to have to work on that. "I – I'm attracted to you. Okay? Big surprise, right?"

"LISBON? JANE?" It was Rigsby's voice, sounding like it came through a bullhorn. "ARE YOU GUYS ALRIGHT?!"

"Sounds like it's safe," said Lisbon, uncurling slowly. "C'mon."

It was not at all like he had planned for the first time he kissed her; it was not at all smooth or skillful. In fact it was a little sloppy, and she wasn't expecting it so the angle wasn't quite right, and he was afraid his teeth scrapped her lip. But he was so relieved to have her in front of him, alive (and slightly dazed, if he was any judge) that he pushed against her hungrily and tangled his fingers in her hair.

"Jane," she said, gasping, pulling away.

"What?"

"AGENT LISBON? CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

She got to her feet, reaching for the handle of the door. She pulled, but it didn't move. "Huh," she said. "Must be busted." She reached through the broken window and opened the door from outside.

"Lisbon - "

"Look Jane," she said, from the doorway. "In about 15 seconds we're going to get swept up in the whole after-incident system. There'll be interviews, forms to fill out, we'll probably both end up at the hospital." She was chewing on her lower lip and Jane wondered if she could still taste his desperation, tangy and sweet. "Let's make this easy on ourselves, okay? We almost died, I don't want to play around. I meant what I said. If you're still serious, come to my apartment tonight whenever you're done. If you don't show up, we'll pretend this whole thing never happened, okay?"

"Wait –" said Jane.

"My god, boss, are you guys alright?" Rigsby came running up and grabbed Lisbon by the shoulders, turning her around. "Look at the _car_, holy crap, are you hurt?"

Then there were medics and investigators - already a crowd when Jane climbed out of the car. People were yelling, asking him questions. One minute he could see Lisbon, talking to Cho and the EMTs, and the next time he looked up, she was gone.


	7. Disorderly Conduct

**)()()()(**

Lisbon answered the door on the first knock. She was dressed in sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt that read, _Property of UC-SF Track and Field_. "I made meatloaf," she offered at once.

Jane smothered his smile. "You did?"

"Yes. And I defrosted some green beans. And there's beer."

"Well, let us not delay," said Jane. "Take me to this repast at once!" The truth was he had worked up quite an appetite, having paced the hallway for the past twenty minutes.

He trailed behind her to the living room, where she had cleared a little table (last time he had been there, it was covered with junk mail - he looked around to find the pile stuffed under a chair). Thankfully he sank into a seat as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Of course he had considered not showing up. And God knows he had been half-expecting Lisbon to have changed her mind and turn him away at the door. She could at least have the common decency to act as awkward as he felt. Why had she even invited him, anyway? To feed him meatloaf? Infuriating woman!

He watched her set out two plates. "Don't look like that," she told him; "it was this or a can of soup. Or grilled cheese. _Maybe_ an omelet."

"I'm sure this will be delicious," he said bravely. And surprisingly it was good, salty and hot, or maybe he was just really hungry.

He watched her open a beer with the corner of her shirt. "Cheers," she said, offering him the other bottle. "Here's to not being dead."

He toasted in return and took a long drink, while she did the same.

Obviously he had already developed a clear plan to handle the evening (and perfected it while he paced): keep Lisbon talking, and say as little as possible himself. It wouldn't do, at this critical juncture, to over-tip his hand; better to let her take the lead for now. He had decided to use the _reflecting_ conversational technique, which involved rephrasing the other person's statements and parroting them back. This was supposed to make the other person feel listened to and understood and generally positive about you (plus it was possible to _slightly_ reinterpret what they said, and put ideas in their head. If you wanted to be devious about it).

". . . So it took five hours just to get through the paperwork," Lisbon was saying, pushing green beans around her plate. "And _then_ I had to give my statement. Heck of day."

"Yes, it was all very tiring," agreed Jane mildly. "I felt tired too."

"The good things is, now that we've got the gunmen there's a decent chance they'll flip on the person who hired them. We might actually get a break in the case. But since it's probably somebody _connected_, Organized Crime Division is already poised to swoop in and take over . . . "

"It's difficult to share responsibilities," Jane summarized, nodding. "Particularly when you're used to taking care of everything yourself."

She didn't seem to be listening, concluding grumpily; "They never miss a chance to steal a collar. Bastards."

"It's always satisfying to be honest about your feelings."

"Huh?" Lisbon glanced up over the top of her beer. "The point is, we'll probably get shut out of the investigation now, since we almost became targets. As if we couldn't keep it professional while we work on the case."

"I agree - rules that govern personal feelings are unnecessary, since we're perfectly capable of compartmentalizing our home and office lives."

Lisbon cocked her head. "What are you talking about? All I'm saying is, unless OCD drops the ball, we should have some answers in the next few days."

"Unfortunate acronym," Jane noted. He pushed his plate back and sighed, putting a hand on his stomach. "I'm stuffed."

"Me too. I always make too much." She reached for his plate and stacked it on top of her own, then stood up and headed to the kitchen.

He followed, irrationally afraid she'd duck out if he let her out of his sight - maybe through the bathroom window (she was small enough). Wordlessly, he took the plates out of her hands and ran the faucet. "You don't have to do that, Jane," said Lisbon, reaching for one. "You're a guest."

"Hospitality is very important," Jane concurred absently, while methodically scrubbing and rinsing the plates, "But the cook never cleans, everybody knows that rule." He handed her a clean plate to dry.

"But I invited you," she muttered. "Can't remember why, now."

"It's difficult to live in denial," Jane sympathized. He handed her a freshly-scrubbed pan.

She took a long time drying it off, so long that there was a backup in the production line, and Jane looked over to see what was holding her up. She was staring at his hands in the suds, and he couldn't tell if she was watching his actions or the wedding band that glinted on his left hand. "Problem?" he asked.

She flushed rosy pink and reached for the pan. "Sorry. Spaced out for a moment, I guess."

"Leave the rest to dry in the rack," he suggested. "Do you want another beer?"

She looked up at him. "No."

"Maybe a glass of wine? A cognac?"

Lisbon blinked. "I don't have cognac," she said.

"Ah, you forget, I do the grocery shopping around here, these days. It's above the microwave. Or would you prefer sherry?" He made to reach for it, but she stopped him with a quick jerk of her head. Well, if she was going to be picky, he also had bourbon. And scotch.

"I'm good," she said softly.

Jane let the last dish drop back into the sink. "Nothing you want?"

Her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip. "Jane," she sighed. "Look - tomorrow there'll be another case, another crisis, and we'll be off again . . . This - is all the time we have."

Jane very carefully and deliberately said nothing. After all, that was the plan.

She came to stand in front of him, far too close. He closed his eyes. For a moment they were both tense and still. "I don't really know what I'm doing, here," she confessed. "Do you?"

He wiped his wet hands on his pants and boosted her up on the counter, so they were closer in height and he could see into her face. Gently, he pushed her knees apart and came to stand between them.

No, he did not know what he was doing. Of course, he could tell her that, but he'd prefer not to if there was any way around it.

"It's okay, Jane," she whispered. "I'm scared too."

"What makes you think I'm scared?"

She smiled, and it was difficult to concentrate when her eyes turned dark like that. "Maybe the fact that I was watching you in the hallway, through the peep-hole. Or does it always take you so long to knock?" She stroked one careful finger down his arm. "Every time you turned around, I thought you were going to leave."

His hand slid behind her head, holding her still as he moved closer by degrees. "And if I had?"

She laughed, a little watery. "It probably would have been for the best," she said. "Sure, my feelings would have been hurt" - he knew she didn't place a lot of stock in her feelings - "maybe it would have been a little weird at work. But we would have gotten through it. This . . . this is going to be trouble."

He bent to brush his lips, ever so lightly, over hers. And really, how was she still too short for this? Just the lightest pressure, once. Twice. Then she looped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him in against her.

Relief flooded through him. She tasted - just the slightest hint - of barbeque sauce. He buried a fist in her silky hair, holding them together until they ran out of breath.

"Jane – I don't have any illusions," said Lisbon, panting slightly. "I know what you are."

He didn't know how to answer. He pushed himself up against her to drive the words out of his head. She felt so good against him, soft and living and warm. He wanted to touch her, everywhere at once, wanted to merge into her, lose himself in her. "Couch?" he asked, and his own voice sounded strange in his ears.

She distracted him by tugging her shirt off and tossing it on the counter. "Bedroom," she whispered. "I think you remember where it is."

**. . .**

When they could barely keep their eyes open, he lifted her to straddle his waist, pulling her down to rest against his chest. "Jane" - she wiggled sleepily, and he groaned - "You're not going to be able to sleep like this."

"I never sleep anyway," he muttered, running a hand down her sweaty back. "This is fine."

Swaddled in Lisbon, he felt the exact moment she drifted off. For the rest of the night he dozed in short spells, which was about what he usually managed, and gained the opportunity to discover the freckles on her shoulders and the mole on her lower back. And the fact that she slept like the dead, barely even moving. And that she really was surprisingly heavy, given her size. But the best part was, this way she couldn't sneak off without waking him –

He was pretty sure they needed to talk.


	8. Conspiracy

.

**)()()()(**

There was ringing . . . why was there ringing?

Then Jane felt the warmth that was wrapped around him begin to move, and before he got his wits about him enough to grab it and hold it in place, Lisbon had sat up and was reaching for her cell phone on the bedside table.

"It's _Sunday morning_," Jane protested, his voice rusty. "What is it, 6 AM?"

_Sorry,_ mouthed Lisbon, flipping open the phone. She put her finger on his lips and spoke briskly, "This is Lisbon."

He kissed her fingertip and sucked it gently into his mouth, causing her eyes to widen in alarm – she pulled her hand back and slapped his chest, lightly. "Yessir. Yes, I can be there. No, it's not a problem. Absolutely."

She swung her legs from around his waist and got out of the bed, leaving Jane cold and grumbling. "Yes sir, can you send that information to my phone?" He watched her gather up her clothes and shimmy into her panties, which she finally located under the bed.

So much for their talk.

"Alright, I understand the need for sensitivity," she was saying. She looked around for her purse, and Jane, although reluctant to help her leave him, finally pointed to the far side of the room, where it was slung across the back of a chair. Smiling her thanks, Lisbon seized it and threw it over one arm, still holding the phone between her ear and her shoulder. "Time sensitive, yes, I understand. Yessir."

Finally she snapped the phone shut and stood in the doorway. "Sorry," she told Jane, and he strained to hear if the regret in her voice was genuine – it was difficult to say for sure. "You stay here and get some more sleep, I'm just going to be dealing with the locals for the first hour anyway. Cho will call you if I need the rest of the team to come out."

"New case?" he asked.

"Same case, new victim." She shook her head. "I'll catch you up later –" And just that quickly, she was gone.

Jane flopped back against the mattress, reflecting on how weird it felt to be lying in Lisbon's bed, naked. Good weird, obviously, but still, weird.

_Tell me that was the best, ever, he demanded, rolling over onto his stomach to look at her._

_Lisbon rolled her eyes, and he thought he heard her mutter, _men_, but she answered, it was the best._

_And that I'm wonderful. And good-looking._

_She reached out a hand to stroke his smooth chin as he climbed on top of her again. You're beautiful._

He managed to fall back to sleep for a few hours, dreaming that the bed was full of rose petals. When the phone rang at 9:00, they popped like bubbles of soap.

"`Lo?"

"Lisbon says get in here," said Cho, without preamble. "We've got a witness and want to know if he's lying."

"Are you at the office?"

"Yup. How soon can you get here?"

From Lisbon's place, 20 minutes, but Jane wasn't falling for that one. "I'm at home," he said. "See you in an hour."

"Fine." Always the efficient conversationalist, Cho hung up without waiting for a reply.

Jane walked around the room collecting his things, which was like going through last night's events in reverse.

_Beautiful – that was a strange word to pick. Tell me you love me._

_She kneed him in the stomach and rolled out from under him. Quit messing around, Jane. _

"How's your weekend going, man?" asked Rigsby from his desk when Jane walked through the bullpen.

"Oh, fine," said Jane. "Terrific."

"Hope we didn't interrupt any exciting plans?"

"No, of course not. Just lying around."

Rigsby studied him, chewing on a pencil as he spoke. "How're you feeling about the whole nearly-dying thing? Cuz it can mess with your head sometimes. You guys were almost Swiss cheese, you know?"

Jane reflected that, if he had indeed been traumatized, this might not be the line to use. Fortunately he could honestly say that, of all the things that had happened in the last 48 hours, nearly dying was at the bottom of the list. "I wouldn't worry about it," he said.

Van Pelt came in balancing two cups of coffee, one of which she set on Rigsby's desk. Thankfully the combination of Grace and sustenance was enough to fully divert his attention. "Good morning, Jane!" she said, sounding noticeably chipper. Obviously she had not been awakened at 6 this morning – Lisbon must have let the rest of the team sleep in. "There's hot water in the kitchen, if you want tea."

Tea was not what he wanted. What he wanted was -

"Oh, Jane, you're here. Good." said Lisbon, coming unexpectedly around the corner. "Our witness definitely knows more than he's saying." He examined her face for any sign of acknowledgement, but she just looked rumpled and annoyed and more than a little tired.

"You want me to get it out of him?" Jane smiled. The master interrogator, that was him.

She was flicking through the stack of forms in Rigsby's outbox. "That's why you're here." If someone didn't know her very well, he decided, they wouldn't be able to tell this distinct, specific tension from her usual level of stress. Exhaustion was good cover for a multitude of sins.

"How's your weekend been, boss?" asked Van Pelt.

"What, you mean in the six hours I've been off? Great," said Lisbon grouchily. "Watched some old movies, went for a run, got called in on a vicious murder apparently perpetrated by whoever tried to kill me yesterday. You know, same old same old."

Van Pelt looked as if she were trying to think of the right response, but finally she just offered her boss the second cup of coffee.

"Thanks," said Lisbon, taking a long swallow. "Jane, the witness is in room 3. Go in there and figure out if he's involved but hey" – she flicked his ear – "no funny stuff." He assumed she meant hypnotism, as opposed to some other things she seemed to find pretty funny last night.

"Sure thing, Agent Lisbon," he said pleasantly, following her back to the hallway. Perhaps, now that they were alone, she would give him some special sign, some indication of what she was thinking . . . but no, she just kept walking, looking pale and set.

He wondered how many times she had played this part, gamely keeping her emotions locked down and out of the way. Denying a shared consciousness, participating in the cover-up. He was sure he wasn't the first. How many other men - Bosco? _Cho?_ "This guy?" he asked, glancing in through the window at a twitchy-looking teenager.

"That's him. Henry Rizzo. Claims to have been standing on the street corner when the shooting started. I'll take you in."

He followed behind her, watching her tight little rear end in those work pants, the same ones she had shimmied into this morning while he watched. They had a distinct crease from lying on the carpet overnight.

_He kissed her hard enough to press her back against the wall, just wanting to keep her with him a little longer. No matter how tightly he held on, he could already feeling her slipping through his fingers, like water. _

_He had to know. Against her lips, he whispered, Why are you doing this? _

_You're a part of my team, Jane, she rasped. I'll never give up on you. He loved the way she wrapped her legs around him, boosting herself higher, clinging. He loved that she gripped his arms with her fingernails, digging herself in. He loved the low sound she made in her throat. She was everywhere, heels on his backside, hands on his shoulders, in his hair, urging him forward, holding him against her. Any time you want to be a human being, you can come to me. I'll never stop hoping that you'll put your revenge behind you. I'll be here, keeping the faith. I'll never turn you away._

_Lisbon - _

It was obvious to Jane that the kid was hiding something from the moment he walked in the room - he looked way too terrified just to be a witness. "Ah, Mr. Rizzo," said Jane, jovially, as Lisbon took her seat across from him. "I'm Patrick Jane, and I believe you've already met Agent Lisbon?"

_When he finally started to move she fell quiet, directing him with only the softest sounds of pleasure; a bitten-off gasp, a sharp exhalation of breath. Luckily, he was very observant. He focused all of his prodigious energy on the clench of her body, the softness of her flesh under his, the rising pressure, slowly building in intensity - until he felt them both shatter, her first, soundlessly, and then him. _

_He melted back against the mattress, and her half-heard words came back to him with the cooling of his blood. Saint Teresa, he said, closing his eyes.  
__Call it what you like, said Lisbon, limp and languid next to him on the bed. But I mean it, Jane, I'll be here._

_He had wanted to make her confess her feelings. But now that he had heard them, he was kind of wishing he'd never asked._

"Come, now, son," said Jane, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "Don't you know there's no point in lying to us? The truth always comes out."


	9. Disturbing the Peace

**)()()()(**

Interesting fact: Liars don't actually look down - or to the left - more than someone telling the truth. They don't fidget more, either. They are just as likely to make eye contact.

They do tend to tell their stories in chronological order, to keep the facts straight. They are less likely to admit they don't know something, or correct something they said wrong. They typically leave perceptions out of their report and focus on logical inference.

So basically, if a story makes perfect sense, and is told cleanly and accurately, especially over time – well, that's a pretty good sign.

Of course, when you have a supposed witness whose heart-rate jumps about 20 points every time you ask a question, you don't really need all this fancy psychological insight. Also, every time he lied, he touched his hair.

"Describe the scene for me again, please," asked Jane politely.

"I was just standing there when a grey SUV pulls up, and the next thing I know they've opened fire on this poor dude. Man, he didn't even have a chance, he just went down. Looked like a cheese grater."

"Lovely," said Jane.

"Did you know this man?" asked Lisbon.

"No, ma'am." Ah, the hair touch.

"But you'd seen him around?"

"I dunno about that," said Henry nervously. "I see a lot of people, you know how it goes. Maybe he's been around the neighborhood before, I'm not sure." Touch. Touch.

Lisbon and Jane exchanged a long glance, then Lisbon sighed and shook her head. "Here's what we think, Henry," she said finally. "We think you were a lookout for the hit. And since we didn't find the shooter, we think you're looking pretty good for a charge of accessory to murder. That makes you just as guilty as whoever pulled the trigger. You're what, eighteen, nineteen years old? What do you think the next sixty years are going to look like for you?"

How Jane enjoyed it when Lisbon got tough (with someone other than him). "So what's the truth," he asked reasonably; "that you're a harmless little lookout who got in over his head, or a brutal killer we should have no compunction about throwing away?"

"Ah, man, I - I just don't know," said Henry. And then touched his hair.

...

"Yes, I understand what you're saying, but I just don't - " Lisbon was scowling at the phone in her hands as though it had personally insulted her. "Uh-huh. Well, If you think I'm flying to Washington to testify at the indictment, you don't know the CBI travel budget," she said. "Our witness admits that he's been running numbers, and he's willing to flip on his bosses in connection to the LeHolt murders . . . so why do I need you?"

Jane was two steps behind her on her coffee-run, hoping that in between angry conversations with the Feds, she might want to discuss their sex life. Sure, it seemed unlikely, but you never know.

"I'm just not sure why my cooperation is _necessary_ – " She paused and made a face at whoever she was speaking to. "Fine, you do that," she said. "I'll wait to hear. Sorry, Jane," she said, hanging up, "it looks like this case is definitely going to go Federal, which somehow results in _more_ paperwork, if such a thing were even possible. I'll take a venti skim latte," she added to the girl at the register. "And a muffin."

"And a cup of the minestrone soup," added Jane. Lisbon rolled her eyes and handed over her credit card.

"I'm glad we've got a chance to talk – " Jane started to say.

"Venti skim latte?" barista announced, and Lisbon turned to claim it at the pick-up counter, steadying the cup under her chin as she juggled the muffin and her soup.

"Why don't we get a table?" asked Jane sensibly, relieving her of the last two items and surreptitiously biting into her muffin. Mmm, blueberry.

"We should probably be getting back –"

"Here," he said, "Sit." He indicated a table by the window. "Take five minutes out of your day."

Surprisingly, Lisbon let herself be persuaded; she dropped into the chair and took a swig of coffee as if she couldn't get the caffeine into her bloodstream fast enough. "I guess it won't kill the suits to wait a while."

Jane dragged a second chair up beside her, grimacing as the hot soup sloshed onto his hands. Why did these places _never _have properly-fitting lids? Wordlessly, Lisbon handed him a napkin. "You're eating my muffin," she noted.

"The soup is better for you."

She rolled her eyes. "Good thing you're looking out for me," she said. "Way to jump on that grenade."

"Vegetables are very important," said Jane, breaking her muffin into pieces.

"You know that's a _blueberry – _"

"Okay, let's not argue," said Jane hastily. "These petty disagreements are really beneath us at at this point."

"Just because you _loose_ every argument . . . "

"Shush, woman. Eat your soup." She was already looking brighter, her cheeks flushed from the hot coffee and the sugar flowing through her veins. Or maybe it was the company.

"So while we're taking a break, what's, uh, what's new with you? Anything on your mind, something you might like to talk about?" _Smooth, Jane – very smooth_.

No dummy Lisbon, she glanced quickly around the café, obviously checking that nobody in the vicinity could overhear. "Is this about last night?" she asked. "Do you want to - talk about it?"

Actually, what he really wanted was to listen while _she_ talked about it. Told him what she was expecting and what she wanted to do next. Talking about it himself was not on the agenda.

"Jane?"

"Only if you do . . ." He knew he was being a coward, but he just couldn't help himself.

"Okay," she sighed, cradling the warm cup in both hands. "Maybe we should see if we're on the same page." Jane wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "Where do you see this going, really?" she asked reasonably. "Do you see us having a big happily-ever-after here?"

Well, that was taking the bull by the horns. "Is that what you want?" he asked cautiously.

"I just want – I want us to help each other," she said, her voice soft. "I don't want this to be an extra source of stress. For either of us."

"And you think I do?"

"Hmm, good question - what you want. I don't think you know." Lisbon opened the tub of soup and stirred it with a plastic spoon.

Jane knew he had to answer, and he opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Silence reigned.

Why was this so hard? It had been easy enough with his wife – he had loved her, pursued her, and won her, and then they had settled down to grow old together. But this wasn't anything like that. Lisbon - dark, ragged, _sainted_ little thing - wasn't anything like the woman he married. And Jane wasn't that person anymore, either.

He wasn't sure he could ever go that route again . . . you just weren't _supposed_ to recover from the death of your child. Even if she wasn't the picket fences type, what did he really have to offer Lisbon, anyway?

She took pity on him. "It's okay, Jane."

"I – you know I have - _feelings_ for you." I mean, come on, he had stalked her for weeks. _He ate her meatloaf._

"I know," she reassured him. A heavy man squeezed between the seats, and she politely moved her chair so he could pass.

"Do you really?"

Evidentially misreading his expression, she touched his arm where it rested on the counter. "Don't worry, Jane, I'm not asking for anything. I'm not – _expecting_ anything. I promise." She put the lid back on her soup and shook her coffee cup, finding it empty. Her voice was even and kind. "We don't need to talk about this now."

Long after Lisbon had finished her lunch and headed back the office with her phone in her hand, Jane lingered outside in the sunshine. Was it him, or did something about her tidy explanations seem a little _too_ convenient?

Slowly and thoughtfully, he finished off her muffin and then crossed the street to the office, brushing off crumbs as he climbed the stairs.

He could hear her voice before he got to the door, and poked his head into the room to see her standing next to Rigsby's desk. "Listen up," she was saying. "I just got word from the chief that I'll be flying out to DC tonight with our witness for the LeHolt case, which I guess we'll be calling the Federal RICO case now . . . better than losing it to Organized Crime, I guess. So, I need you to get your reports in to me ASAP, and make sure you come see me by the end of the day. Cho's in charge while I'm gone, and Jane -" her eyes found his before skating away, "try not to give him a hard time, okay?" She shook her head.

It seemed like Jane had just received some breathing room, and space to think - that he wasn't sure he really wanted.

"I know the timing on this isn't great," said Lisbon, "I'm really sorry to be leaving town when there's so much left to do."

And then she reached up and touched her hair.


	10. Insanity Plea

**)()()()(**

Lisbon kicked off her shoes and collapsed thankfully onto the hard hotel bed, listening to the hum of the traffic outside. It had been a long day, explaining the intricacies of the various murders tied to the case; she couldn't deal with even one more grim-faced, fashion-challenged g-man and his endless questions.

Tossing her jacket over the nightstand and wriggling out of her formal pants, she snuggled into the scratchy bedding wearing only a shell and her trouser socks, burrowing down like a hibernating creature. Which, considering the temperature, felt about right.

When she left Sacramento, it had been fifty degrees and sunny. In DC in was hovering close to zero and had been snowing ever since she arrived.

The buzz of her cell phone from the bedside table had her groaning, and even though she'd sworn she was done for the day, she was reaching for it in the next minute (well, it could be _important)_. When she read the screen she made a face and decided not to answer. He'd call back.

The phone rattled insistantly as she lay back, irritating her just like he would do, if he were here. She had been deliberately not thinking about Jane all day, but just like always, he kept pushing to the forefront of her mind.

It was just that, lately he had seemed so - different. For one thing he was actually _smiling, _and not his usual mocking smile, lips curling in distain, but a real smile, directed at her. How could she ever refuse him anything, when he looked at her like that?

But loving him would be the second-worst mistake she could make . . . and the worst would be to ever let him know. Jane _used _weakness, he found all the cracks in a person and exploited them, until they broke apart. He wanted his own way before anything, or anyone, even if having his way left nothing but a pile of rubble at the end.

She was the one who held things together.

She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath, counting to ten. She could do this. She could keep them both in one piece, whether it meant keeping his head down in a shootout or smacking him upside the head herself. And if it meant sleeping with him, she would do that.

Yeah, big sacrifice.

And one day, maybe, when they were old and grey, after everything was over . . .

She turned onto her side and buried her face in the lumpy pillow.

The next thing she was aware of was the sound of the key-card in the door, and she had the sense of light flooding the room from the hallway – and then it closed, and the light was extinguished. Before she could even gather her thoughts enough to panic she had an impression of his general shape, and the noiseless way he moved across the carpet -

"Lisbon?"

No, this wasn't happening. She wasn't here. If she didn't answer, maybe he would _just_ _go away_.

She heard him come up to the bed, feeling his way in the dim room - she felt his hand, over the blankets, touching her shoulder, the back of her head, then moving down her spine, lingering over the curve of her hip – to her – "Jane!"

"Oh, it _is_ you," said Jane innocently. "I wasn't sure."

Lisbon threw back the blankets, grumbling, and then squeaked in surprise when the cold air hit her. "Oh, it's _freezing_."

"Ah, that it is." He turned on the bedside lamp and she rubbed her eyes at the sudden light. He dropped his suitcase next to the bed and shrugged out of his coat, which he hung carelessly over a chair.

She watched him move around the room, shedding clothing - that damn three-piece suit. "What are you doing?"

"Well, my dear, I'm plumb worn out," he told her. He was down to his undershirt and pants. "You know, I've been on my feet since 3:00 this morning."

"What?"

"Oh yes. My plane was diverted to Newark. By way of Des Moines." Of course, he had taken the red-eye. "I waited in the airport for sixteen hours." There went the pants. Hmmm. "Finally I just rented a car."

He disappeared into the bathroom with a bag, and in the next minute she heard him brushing his teeth. "Of course, the highways were _terrible_," he said, the words coming out garbled. She heard him swishing and spitting, then the sound of the faucet. "I'm lucky to have survived."

"Not if I end up killing you now. So - what are you doing here?"

"Did I mention I slept on a bench in the airport?" he asked, when he re-emerged. "It wasn't nearly as comfortable as our couch at home."

Was he referring to the CBI offices as 'home?' That was either sweet or pathetic. "But what are you _doing here?_"

"I really suffered." He stood next to the bed, shifting on his feet. "Is any of this turning you on?"

"Yeah, travel delays get me hot," she retorted, rolling over to check the clock. "Seriously, Jane, what - ?"

She felt the bed dip under his weight, and then she was snuggled against his cold chest, his arms locking tight across her middle. "Ja -" she started to complain, but was cut off when one of his icy hands snuck up under her shirt. _Yikes! _Unrepentantly, he twined his sock-covered feet with her bare legs and Lisbon gasped and socked him. "Jerk!"

"Shh," he muttered sleepily against her neck. "Tired now." He nudged his knee between hers and huddled up around her, drawing the blankets over them both, like children playing in a fort.

She felt herself relaxing, although she should really be working up to kicking him in the `nads.

"Bad news," he whispered, into her hair – she shuddered at the feeling of his cold nose next to her ear. "We're going to get stuck here a few days."

"What?"

"There's a travel advisory," he said, sounding suspiciously not at all upset about it. "They're calling for another six feet, the airport's closed. You're not going to make your flight tomorrow."

Lisbon closed her eyes. Great.

"Lisbon," he whispered, nuzzling her cheek with gentle, hungry lips. "I've been thinking about what you said."

"What - "

"Shhh, just . . . just listen, for a minute." He took a breath, barely a flutter of air against her temple. "I want to tell you - I know what I want. You think I don't know, but I do."

"Jane - "

"Ah-ah," he tutted, "let me finish. I just - have to say something." And then he was silent.

She rolled her eyes. "You're _such a - _"

"Just - don't say anything, no matter what. Okay?"

After a long moment, she nodded, knowing he could feel the movement. "Finally," he muttered, planting soft, sucking kisses down her side of her neck. Teeth, ever-so-gently, biting at her nape. Lisbon closed her eyes. "I love you," he whispered against her skin.

She had to keep perfectly still, with her eyes clenched shut, because she didn't want him to see her cry. "Jane . . . "

"Wait - don't answer," he insisted stubbornly. "I'm not asking, I'm - I'm just _telling_ _you_ - just - let me." She could feel his strong hands, moving over her shoulders, down her arms. "Let me . . " he whispered. "Please."

So she did.

Maybe it wasn't very much to go on. Maybe, despite their best intentions, it would all go bad before the end. But for the first time in a while, Lisbon felt something tingling at the back of her throat -

It might have been - hope.

**FIN**

_A/N: Aw, I'm kind of sorry to see this story end! Thanks so much to everybody who read or reviewed._


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